Chapter 17

The Surprising and Erotic Adventures of Sir Rigby Dickens: Volume 2

"Well," said Fred, looking around at everyone's rather shell-shocked and sugar smeared faces. "That was wild." Alice and Hugo chest bumped in the air screaming and dropping sprinkles everywhere.

"Yes!" yelled Alice. "Level 2! Whooooooooooo!"

"That was close," said Joan, wiping icing off her face. "Too close. You and Alice–"

"Hang on," said Fred, looking looked around. "Where's Epic?"

A few minutes frantic search unearthed Epic, covered, like the rest of them in crumbs and sticky icing, crouched in a corner and sobbing into her knees.

"What happened?" asked Hugo.

"Are you hurt?" asked Joan.

Epic didn't look at them, merely rocking back and forward, hitting her back against the wall in a steady thumping rhythm.

"I can't do this," she said.

"What do you mean?" asked Fred. "It's over now?"

"I don't want to be here. I don't deserve to be here."

"If Alice deserves to be here," said Hugo. "You definitely deserve to be here."

"Hey!" said Alice, but she didn't seem too upset. As if this was a conversation they had had before.

"Why doesn't Alice deserve to be here?" asked Joan. Alice looked uncomfortable.

"I wasn't the best person," she said.

"Oh right," said Fred. "You started out naked, didn't you? We probably should have asked you if you were a serial killer already."

"No," said Alice. She paused. "But I was a bit mean to people quite often. On the internet."

"A troll," said Fred.

"Only reason she's stopped I reckon," said Hugo. "Is there's no internet."

"Bite me," said Alice.

"How did you die again?" continued Hugo. Alice looked away, wriggling a little.

"Too much coke," she muttered, "at a party."

"And did you ever work a day in your life? Or do anything nice for anyone else?"

"I bought my mum some flowers once," she said.

"Oh that's nice," said Joan.

"With money I stole from her purse. Okay fine. I wasn't great. Okay. You lot don't know what it was like."

Tears welled in Alice's eyes. Hugo leaned over and gave her a hug.

"Fuck off, Hugo," she said, clinging to him like a limpet."You died when a rock fell on your head."

"My point," said Hugo, turning back to Epic, one arm still around Alice. "Is that none of us particularly deserve to be here. But we are here."

"He's right," said Joan. "I mean I was a serial killer in my first life. Kind of." Everyone backed a way a little. "Oh come on," said Joan. "What do you think pirates did? Asked nicely?"

"I don't deserve the XP," said Epic. "I don't deserve to level up! I didn't even fight! I am just dead weight. You should have given me to the witch, at least then I would have been good for something."

"What are you talking about?" said Joan. "I mean it was horrible, but we are all fine now–"

"How the fuck did you end up with level 3?" muttered Fred, "my XP is higher than yours."

"A glitch," said Joan, "I don't know. But we can talk about it later–"

" I didn't do anything!" said Epic, her breath coming in big, heaving sobs. "I went to pieces, I just stood there, scared out of my mind while you all fought her, and now I'm level 2 and... and I did nothing – my name is Epic Failure for a reason."

They all stood looking at her. Fred wasn't sure what to say. She hadn't done anything, but hopefully, she would at some point.

"We're a party," said Hugo, as if that was enough. Epic stared at him blankly.

"I mean if you hadn't been here," said Fred, carefully. "It wouldn't have gone worse. You didn't make it worse." She looked at him, her face pale. "And you seem nice," he shrugged. "And maybe next time you will feel up to fighting a bit. If not, no harm. But you are certainly not making anything worse. I like having someone else around who isn't twelve. Or a serial killer."

"Hey," said Alice.

"Uncalled for," said Joan.

Epic's eyes were a bit wild for a moment. She drew in a long shuddering breath.

"You are sure?" she asked with the intensity of someone grasping a lifeline.

"Quite sure," said Fred, not really understanding what was going on. But Joan gave him an approving nod, and Epic seemed to feel happier so that was that.

"How about," said Joan, carefully "we celebrate with a meal and a room at the inn? The witch dropped a ton of money. We've got enough for a good while. And I've still got a crick in my back from sleeping in the meadow." Fred decided Joan was cute when she lied, for a serial killer. He decided not to think about that. The 17th century must have been tough. Yes, better not to think about it. She had lived a whole life since then. An innocent life, as a tree. And this Joan wasn't very good at lying, and her face went all earnest and she always blushed a bit. Cute. Not creepy.

"Oh yes," said Hugo. "My ears are worn out from hearing Alice snore."

"I could kill for a cup of tea," said Fred.

"I'm hungry," said Alice.

Hugo looked around at the remains of the witch and shuddered.

"The sooner we leave the better," he said.

"The food at the Beer and Loathing is very nice," said Epic, perking up a little.

"We're a long way from the Beer and Loathing," said Fred, looking up at a crack in the tiles at the stars far above "It will be a long walk in the dark."

"Well, I don't fancy sleeping here," said Hugo. They all looked around at the sugar-stained carnage. A lump of sponge fell off the ceiling and landed on the floor with a splodge.

"No," said Alice, with feeling. She brightened. "What about the Wish You Were Beer?"

"Beg pardon?" said Fred.

"It's a little inn, the one at the crossroads."

"The crossroads?" said Joan. "Fred and I haven't been that way."

"It's not far," said Hugo. "It's where Alice and I met. She was running off with someone's pyjamas and I bumped into her."

"Luckily," said Alice.

"Lucky for you," said Hugo.

So they set off, closing the door of the ruined farmhouse behind them. The night-dark landscape lay before them, the dim starlight reflecting off the surface of the river and the armour of all the knights who seemed to be gathered outside the house.

"Oh," said Joan. The party came to a stop in a big, sugar stained pile behind her.

"Greetings, lesser mortals," said Sir Galahad. He leapt from his horse in one smooth motion, landing with Hollywood grace. Removing his visor he flicked back his hair. Everyone suddenly felt very aware of the mess they were in. There was a not so subtle wiping of crumbs, and straightening of backs as the party were hit by the full force of the Knight of Cake's bountiful charisma.

"I see you have stolen our quest."

"Your quest?" demanded Alice.

"Shh," said Joan, softly, holding her back with one hand.

"Our quest," said Sir Galahad. He bared his teeth, and there was that diamond gleam. Fred made an effort to have a good look at the knight's equipment. He had a feeling that at some point they would have an altercation that would not be settled with rolling pins. Or limericks. "What did you give the witch?"

"Her murderer," said Hugo, puffing himself up as much as he could. Sir Galahad laughed down at him and Hugo bristled.

"Her murderer? How quaint! What a waste. What did that buy you? One level?"

"What did you bring?" said Epic, stung.

"I still think it was a good idea," whispered Alice.

"Thanks," said Epic, quietly.

"Such a waste," Sir Galahad shook his head, gleaming locks flying, and behind him, his knight all tutted with disapproval. "Such a handy little glitch. So many children running around that no one will miss. And you killed her for a paltry amount of XP. No matter." He grinned again, and there was no humour in the expression.

"You didn't," said Joan, turning pale.

"Why not?" said one of the knights."They are not real. They are just NPCs."

"The witch was hungry," said Sir Galahad, "witches like to eat children yes? Don't you remember your fairy tales? Such an easy way to level fast. Isn't that what it's all about? Gingerbread and mice...but enough." He leapt back onto his horse and put on his helm. The white plumes streamed in the evening breeze. "We will make other arrangements."

The horses wheeled, and the knights thundered off down the valley. One of the younger knights, Maurice probably, flipped them the bird as they went.

"This game is horrid," said Epic.

"It wasn't like this last time," said Joan. "I mean...the purge was always intense. Duels and stuff. I mean there was always...gore. But we weren't encouraged to do that sort of thing. And other players were off-limits. Help!" For a moment Fred thought she was in trouble, and then the Guide appeared in a sparkly sulk.

"What?" he said. "You've got a lot of nerve. Do you know how much effort goes into those levelling ceremonies? I'll never hear the end of it. I had to distribute so many biscuits. I had to get out the good ones with the chocolate. Ungrateful lot."

"I am sorry," said Joan, although she didn't really sound it. "But couldn't you see we were in the middle of a fight with the Midnight Witch?"

"I suppose," said the Guide, pouting a little.

"I really am sorry," said Joan.

"Oh alright, alright, shut up. It's getting embarrassing. What do you want? Assuming you didn't just call me to apologize? Of course not."

"You know it's my second playthrough?" said Joan. The Guide rolled his eyes.

"I have seen the paperwork," he said, stifling a yawn. "We are all very impressed."

"No," said Joan, irritated. "I mean, usually you appear after the fight, not during."

"Yes..." said the Guide, looking worried. "That's not supposed to happen. I'll bring it up with the Administration. Not that you deserve special treatment." Joan ignored this.

"I'm just wondering about the changes that have been made."

"Oh," the Guide sat up a little, his eyes narrowing. "Which changes would those be?"

"Last time," said Joan, "the dungeon wouldn't have tolerated griefing. Good people were rewarded for making good choices. Redemption arcs were the name of the game. What's happened?"

"Macabre has always had...er...grey quests," said the Guide, a trifle defensively.

"Sure," said Joan. "But slaughtering your way to the top over a pile of bodies was never–"

"Okay fine," said the Guide, straightening in his book, his eyes flashing. He looked back over his shoulder, and Fred wondered what he was watching for. "There's some new management, okay," he hissed. "They are experimenting a bit. There are a few... glitches cropping up here and there. Just keep your heads down and get on with it. You're doing okay for a bunch of losers."

He disappeared in a puff of smoke and sparks.

"Well," said Joan. "That's unsettling."

"Food for thought," said Fred. "We are still in tutorial mode?"

"Until told otherwise," said Joan with a shrug.

"I'm hungry!" said Alice loudly.

They set off for the inn at the crossroads, Hugo and Alice taking the lead. The moon rose over the mountains, and there was just enough light to walk by. They stopped at a little mountain stream to wash off the worst of the cake and sugar, splashing themselves quickly as the water was freezing. A short, and welcome while later they found themselves outside a small, homely looking inn, set alone at the junction of two roads. Golden light and music spilt out into the night.

Upon entering they were greeted by a roaring fire and Rosie, who welcomed them with open arms despite the late hour.

"Rosie!" said Joan, in surprise. "I thought you worked at the Beer and Loathing?"

"I do!" replied the blonde barmaid. "It's a franchise. What can I get you all?"

One enjoyable meal later, Fred found himself waiting for Joan in a small room at the top of the inn. He could hear Alice and Hugo bickering peacefully down the corridor. Epic was humming to herself in a small room of her own. She had found a book to read. "A Tale of Two Chickens by James Cock," she said, waving it joyfully, just before saying goodnight.

Fred too examined the bookcase looking for something to read before bed. His eye's alighted on a slim red volume entitled The Surprising and Erotic Adventures of Sir Rigby Dickens: Volume Two.

"Oh hello," he murmured to himself, pulling the book towards him. He glanced over his shoulder a little guiltily but Joan was still in the bath. Fred started to read:

The Surprising and Erotic Adventures of Sir Rigby Dickens: Volume 2

In Which Sir Rigby Learns the Value of Five a Day

With the great Wyrm nowhere in sight our erstwhile hero, Sir Rigby Dickens falls on hard times. With supplies and spirits running low he rides the wildness for days with nary a tart nor a snack to help him pass the time. Dreaming of crumpets and cherry-pies he wanders, delirious until he comes to a beautiful garden. A beautiful maiden is tending the vegetables, a straw hat shading her face from the sun. She looks up as the knight approaches:

Sir Rigby Dickens: Fair maid! I do apologise at this intrusion into your lady-garden! I am but a poor knight who has fallen on hard times and I am sorely in need of sustenance.

Beautiful Maiden: Why, of course, Sir Knight, if you can just hold these melons I will see what I can find. The soil here is dark and rich, and as you can see I am blessed with an abundance.

Sir Rigby Dickens: Yes, everything is most bountiful, you are blessed indeed. The bushes seem well-tended indeed.

Beautiful Maiden: I have a keen interest in topiary, and I spend a lot of time outdoors. That reminds me, did perchance see my goat as you approached the garden? She has gone missing.

Sir Rigby Dickens: No indeed, I did not see a goat, nor livestock of any kind. All I have is this eggplant.

Beautiful Maiden: That is a fine specimen. How big do you think it will grow?

Sir Rigby Dickens: Big enough to satisfy even the keenest appetite.

Beautiful Maiden: It has been a long time since last I ate. Sir knight, can I suggest a trade? One that will leave us both satisfied?

Sir Rigby Dickens: Speak, fair maiden! I await your words with bated breath. But make haste for I am most eager to sample those cherries.

Beautiful Maiden: A trade then? This juicy cantaloupe for your eggplant?

Sir Rigby Dickens: Done! A million times done! Oh, what a beauty! Round and firm and resplendent with morning dew!

Beautiful Maiden: It makes a good mouthful.

Sir Rigby Dickens: Do these plums feel ripe to you?

Beautiful Maiden: They are delicious, but I must confess I do have a hankering for peach.

Sir Rigby Dickens: I too am fond of peaches. Perhaps we should make a fruit salad?

"A fruit salad?" said Joan, peering over Fred's shoulder and making him jump. "Honestly, who writes this stuff? Put that away and I'll show you how to make a proper fruit salad."